


The Time Break

by dschbach



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, F/F, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dschbach/pseuds/dschbach
Summary: A meritocratic government of 13.Four utter strangers, each pursuing a goal.An iron-clad soldier of time itself.What could possibly happen?An adaptation of the first D&D campaign I ran as a Pokémon setting! A similar plotline will be followed to the campaign, but the world has been shifted to fit with the technology found in a traditional Pokémon region. It'll also focus significantly more on each individual party member, exploring paths and side-adventures (through the lens of Pokémon) that weren't explored during the campaign due to time and mechanical restraints.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Since this region is based off of my homebrewed D&D setting, a few names might seem familiar if you've consumed the media it's from (e.g., The Legend of Zelda, Critical Role). However, none of these described places or artifacts have anything in particular to do with this AU (though Critical Role did play a role in the source material for the original D&D campaign).
> 
> Please enjoy! It's been a long time since I've written fanfiction of any kind.

Thirteen figures sit around a polished oak table. A cold breeze wafts into the chamber, wailing faintly as the Hebran winds wrap around the home of the Pokémon League. Each silhouette rests rather stoically, with the exception of the more… _flamboyant_ characters in the League.

Lights flicker overhead, casting shadows throughout the large room built of intricately carved stone and marble. The form at the far end of the table rises from his seat, and the face of a rather dumpy, pale man becomes visible as the expanse is illuminated in the ghostly light of a dozen Litwicks that float above. His meek voice echoes, reaching the ears of the other twelve members within the League.

“I assembled the League today to discuss the recent developments of Team Chronos on the citizens of the Tempora Region. There’ve been multiple attacks on Gyms, the Academies of Misty Run, banks, and even the occasional Breeder here and there – all of which are completely unacceptable in a region that’s supposed to be the shining example of excellence in Uthilith. If any of you have any information, _any at all_ , I implore you to come forward.” He swallows hard, nervously glancing about the chamber. For a brief moment, the Champion’s beady eyes meet those of a lanky, middle-aged man with long greasy hair and a pencil mustache. Their eyes disconnect after that split second, but the Champion could feel an intense sort of malevolence in his expression. Fully aware that any wrong move could alter his fate for the worse, Mordecai Gorecrest turned to the remainder of the League. “Anyone?”

Another man – shirtless, despite the chill of Hebran winds and clad in a pirate’s tricorn hat – looks up from filing his nails. “Aye, they tried to loot my Gym for booty in Port Walcana a couple‘a weeks ago. Me crew was able to fend th’ bastards off, at least!” He grins slightly, revealing surgically altered canines that look more like fangs than normal human teeth.

Mordecai glances over in the Port Walcana Gym Leader’s direction. “D-Did they leave any evidence behind, Dan?”

“A callin’ card of sorts, mate! Most of it was just kinda boring talk, but it did have initials as a signature.”

A woman with a small frame and somewhat avian features glances up from her glass of wine. “And those initials were?”

“Hol’ up, Gribe, I was gettin’ there.” The pirate cosplayer stands up and begins to rifle through his loose-fitting dark red pantaloons folded into heeled leather boots. After an awkward pause, Dan uncrumples a piece of paper with some elegant calligraphy inscribed into the page. “A.M.?”

A plainly-dressed man who carries himself with an air of elegance taps his fingertips on the table, a flash of recognition passing over his visage upon hearing those initials. “One of the Murkstones, possibly?”

The slightly birdlike woman scribbles something into a leatherbound notebook. Her sky-blue cloak made of Ducklett feathers flutters slightly in the windchill. “Yes, Syldius, that’s what I assumed too. I believe the particular individual – Avalan Murkstone – was most recently spotted in Folweld Town? Do you have any idea, Carlotta?” Her gaze moves from the blonde noble to a relatively stout woman with a vividly pink pixie cut.

“Unfortunately not – Folweld Town keeps to themselves most of the time, so it’s really rare that they even bother to contact us in Moorshead City. Thanks to that plateau and the Ikana Badlands up north, they’re isolated enough that it takes a magnitude of effort for us to even reach ‘em. No one in my Gym raises Trapinches either, so we can’t exactly fly over.” Carlotta scratches the head of a small, turtle-like creature in her arms as she glances gloomily at the flying-type Gym Leader. Her Turtwig lets out a contented groan, wriggling slightly until it settles into the continent’s “easiest” Gym’s lap.

A pale blonde woman clad in a long black kimono interjects. “If Team Chronos is currently in Ikana Province, we should allocate more Watchers to the area. Arden, would you mind explaining why they’re overwhelmingly based in Zonaius right now?” She waves a finger lazily, and a few of the candle Pokémon from above shift the light towards the man with the awkwardly thin pencil mustache and a hungry look in his eyes.

“The Temporan Regional Bank is in Zonaius, is it not? It’s better to be safe than sorry – with all of the attacks on Gyms and other institutions recently, why shouldn’t I protect the region’s reserve?” His voice effortlessly booms throughout the chamber: seductive and snakelike, similarly to the hypnotic gaze of an Arbok before catching its prey. Arden Riverfall – the Elite Four’s Armored Soul – rises from his seat and smiles smugly towards the blonde woman.

“Arceus, you’re insufferable,” mutters the blonde woman under her breath. She rises to meet Arden’s gaze; the Champion at the head of the table retracting into his shell slightly at the almost electric conflict between the Ghost and Steel-type wielders of the Elite Four. “Having that significant of an armed presence in Zonaius is fully not protecting our constituents to the degree you think it is, and Mr. Monmouth can take care of his own city! I’m aware that you control the Watcher forces of Tempora, but this is blatantly unnecessary and stressing the citizens of Zonaius out.” Aryll Maledict gently places a hand on her neighbor’s shoulder – a tall man with almost coal-black skin, honey-golden eyes, and dreadlocks that fall past his shoulders.

“Thank you, Aryll. Zonaius has plenty of protection from my aides at the Gym and our bank’s security forces are top-notch; so, I’d appreciate if we focused on what’s for the greater good of the region than something I’m in full control over.” Alastor Monmouth – the Radiant Reaper – calls out the ghostly image of a microwave oven from a sleek Pokéball, and the chamber is immediately met with a faint wave of heat to offset the Hebran winds.

Arden’s eye twitches subtly, and he sinks back into his seat with an air of irritation. He glances over at the youngest member of the League – an ephebe with light brown skin and an ethereal quality about him – and sighs in mild frustration. Nekrotzar had never been one for politics, and his participation in the Elite Four is primarily one of celebrity status. Arden sighs loudly, and the nineteen year-old looks up in annoyance. Before the media’s golden child (the “One-Winged Angel”) can answer, the fourth member of the Elite Four pipes up in a high-pitched voice.

“Yeah! You all know how I feel about Watchers, but I think that we should do what’s fair and allow Ikana Province to have some soldiers as a safety precaution!”

Without missing a beat, an ethereal voice with a Faronian lilt rings through the room. “Should we carry out a formal vote, then?”

“I concur,” responds the posh accent of a woman clad in an ostentatious cloak made of Pyroar furs.

Mordecai directs his attention once more to the visibly irate expression of Arden Riverfall, a chill ripping down his spine. “ _Why me…_ ”

One by one, the members of the Pokémon League cast their votes. The outcome is relatively predictable – aside from Dan and Dame Dolciana (the woman clad in fur), all of the Gym Leaders vote in favor of moving the Watcher forces to Ikana Province. Of the Elite Four, it’s divided equally – Cloud and Aryll vote to reallocate; Arden and Nekrotzar do not. Once again, the Armored Soul glares directly in the direction of the Champion. In a meek voice, Mordecai Gorecrest states one thing, not knowing what is to follow: “The vote has passed.”


	2. The Lord of the Mountain - Paavu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we begin our exploration into the PCs from the original campaign! This first chapter is a reflavoring of the pact formation between the party druidlock Paavu and their patron, a primordial entity of the earth.

A sea of inky blackness greets the rather large form of Paavu as they drift into slumber. The world around them becomes almost gelatinous as their body enters the world of dreams, faint shapes and silhouettes echoing throughout the dimension in which the mind wanders. In an incalculable amount of time (seconds? weeks?), a setting paints itself around them.

A chilling cold envelops Paavu as their feet touch the ground, sinking into the crunchy layer of snow that tops the Hebra Mountains. It seems as if the harsh wind so associated with this northern region is whistling a vague, mournful tune. Paavu touches their belt, feeling for the familiar comfort of their Larvitar’s Pokéball – but to no avail. For a brief moment their gut swells with panic – their breathing becomes ragged, but after a sharp inhale of the fresh pine scent of the world around them, they begin to calm down.

“I’m dreaming,” Paavu whispers to themselves quietly. Recollecting the last few days, they begin to remember what they were doing up until this slumber.

They were travelling southward from their home in the Hebra Mountains. After a brief stint in St. Cethleann’s Landing where Paavu began their studies in Tracking, they found a rumor that a small colony of Solosis with a unique abjurative ability lived in an old temple hidden deep in Ikana Province, and so they sought to seek one out. The last thing Paavu remembers before dipping into utter unconsciousness was reaching the ultra-rural settlement of Mimmaz Village – a hamlet whose miniscule size rivals even Paavu’s mountainous hometown.

Paavu reorients themself, taking a few deep breaths. Crisp mountain air fills their lungs as a slight magnetic gravitas exacts itself on their body. It isn’t entirely literal; the pull is more as if a path of spiritual energy presented itself in front of Paavu to lead them somewhere. After a few minutes of walking, they recognize the route (though it’s been a while since they had to traverse it) – it’s the way to the Ice Cavern. As children, offspring of the Murkstone hamlet were consistently warned to not enter. Parents pointed to stories and legends of the kids who entered and never emerged again, likely dying from exposure or being torn to shreds by some wild Pokémon. In this self-aware dreamscape, Paavu’s able to settle their nerves merely by cognizing this situation.

At a steady pace, the large figure approaches the mouth to the Ice Cavern. The frayed wooden sign placed next to the entrance is inscribed with absolute gibberish, something that’s in deep contrast to the expected “DANGER – KEEP OUT” so ingrained in the culture of Murkstone’s Hamlet. Breathing in and out, creating faint clouds of steam in the cold, damp air, Paavu steels themselves and enters the mystical cave their town’s folklore is based upon.

As Paavu’s eyes adjust to the descent into darkness, the frosted walls of the chamber begin to faintly illuminate the layout of the cavern. Odd shades of iridescent blues, yellows, and pinks dance and reflect off of the bizarre mosaic patterns of which the ice crystallized. Beauty often comes hand-in-hand with danger, however, which is made clear when Paavu’s boot slips as they’re mesmerized by the hypnotic fractals lining the space. Their foot slides directly out in front of them, and Paavu’s large form slams down on the solid earth below. A sudden jolt of pain rocks through their body, particularly from their shoulder blades and lower neck. “Ow…” mutters Paavu to themselves.

Faint jingling echoes through the cavernous space as Paavu rises from the frozen terrain. In the dim light, they scan the room in search of its source. A slight twinkle catches the light from just outside of the cave, shifting and stirring as Paavu hastens through this area. They recall one of the many creatures to be found in this cave that would display itself in such a reflective manner – their parents warned frequently of the Cryoganal that would try to lure one in with spellbinding charm and radiant displays of ice. Though the species was generally considered a sole ice-type (since they were discovered in the tamer peaks of Thur Nirkhum), the ones in the Hebra Mountains have since adapted the additional dark element to help them survive in such a harsh environment.

Taking caution to watch their step, Paavu sidesteps the frozen floor and to a much more stable cluster of rocks. The echoing cry of the Cryoganal passes behind them, leaving an eerie sensation of being watched by something.

“ **Child of the mountain.** ”

“What?” blurts Paavu, looking wildly around the chamber for a source to the hallowed voice, booming through the cavern and making ice crystals rattle ever so slightly.

“ **You know not who I am?** ”

Paavu’s dream self’s ethereal form shimmers as they descend into deeper thought, remembering the core tale passed down by generations in the hamlet of Murkstone. The moment their mind comes to a conclusion, Paavu feels their body involuntarily kneel in reverence to the patron spirit of the mountain itself. “I do, Lord of the Mountain.”

A vast silhouette – almost like a Sawsbuck (though grander and possessing a presence far more regal), its horns branching similarly to a tree’s branches – materializes in front of the Pokémon Tracker. The strange iridescence of the walls glows even brighter, inciting the Cryoganal and Cubchoo that reside in the foyer to this cave to flee in sudden terror. Paavu’s body locks into place, completely unable to move.

“ **You possess the raw talent that would allow me to reclaim the world in the name of nature. A fellow child of the mountain – Avalan, yes, I believe his name is – has desecrated the natural world in the name of a primordial being even unknown to _me_.”**

Paavu stares up at the Lord of the Mountain in utter confusion. Avalan? They hadn’t seen Avalan since Paavu had graduated from the tiny secondary school in Murkstone, as that boy was a year their junior. Paavu just sort of figured that he’d end up stuck in the little hamlet, probably working at the Pokémart or something while mooching off of his parents. Anyway, they hadn’t thought about _Avalan_ since Paavu began their journey as a Tracker through the Tempora Region in St. Cethleann’s Landing where they’d study briefly under Gym Leader Syldius Vessar.

“ **Pledge to take my blessing and to subdue the ones defiling the Tempora Region, and one day, I’ll grant you the power to manipulate nature itself.”**

Without thinking (a rare exception to the usually rather calculating Paavu), the word “Yes,” escapes their lips.

“ **Good. Take care of Helios when you awaken, as he’ll be your only chance at escaping your… situation.”**

“What?” asks Paavu again, in even more confusion. The iridescence of the cave begins to fade into inky blackness.

“ **I am thou… thou art I.** ”

Paavu feels their corporeal form in the real world gently being shaken by a rather warm hand. They open their eyes to see a rather pale young man with long, raven-black hair. In a soothing voice, he greets the Tracker: “Hey you – you’re finally awake.”


	3. Chase - Faladin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for past reference to abuse (though nothing too graphic).
> 
> Here we begin the reskinned story of the party rogue, Faladin Soldhom and his escape from a crime-ridden city and a depressing past.

Rubber burning against asphalt screeches behind the rather inconspicuous young man as he sharply turns the corner in the unkempt streets of Oakenward City. Clutching a metal device in one hand and a Pokéball in the other, the Ranger flattens himself against the wall and quickly catches his breath. He tosses the ball into the air, opening with a burst of energy against the rough road below. In a harsh whisper, Faladin Soldhom commands “Sheik, Sticky Web the area just in front of the car and get moving!”

A large insectoid with a white, green, and brown coloration emerges from Fala’s ball, immediately spitting a viscous white goo at the downtown street. Without a second thought, he takes off in a full sprint down the alleyway, his Nincada in tow. Standing before the young man is a tall brick wall, adorned with occasional iron-wrought balcony fences that mark the standard apartment complex of Tempora’s most unstable city. Rather than being washed with the typical dismay felt by the failure of a chase, Fala merely grins in a strange flash of excitement. Two muscular men stand at the other end of the alley, clad in the scarlet _judogi_ indicative of Dame Dolciana’s Gym on the other side of town. Both are flanked by another muscular humanoid – one tall, with deep blue skin; the other squat, with a deep red – each clad in a similar outfit.

“You’ve got nowhere to run, Faladin Soldhom! Accept defeat and return with us to the Lady Dolciana’s manor to receive judgement,” calls a booming voice through a megaphone. A nearby window clatters open, a woman with curlers in her hair poking her head out into the night air.

“Would you _shut the fuck up_? It’s the middle of the goddamn night! Don’t make me call the cops!”

One of the muscular men snaps their fingers in utter annoyance; a flash of blinding light fills the air. She yelps in pained surprise as a tongue of white flame punches upward from the blue-skinned Pokémon (Fala believes it to be a Sawk from his vantage point), quickly retracting her head. In the moment of distraction, Fala lifts the metal device he holds in his other hand.

“Well, well, well! Aren’t you special, thinking that you could catch me so easily?” Fala’s voice is gruff yet filled with a sort of cocky optimism as the Ranger lifts his tool of choice – a multipurpose Capture Styler – into the air and towards the top floor’s balcony. A long, steel cable extends from the end and grapples the railing above. The wind rushes past his face in the warm night air as he ascends to the point of grapple, recalling Sheik the Nincada on the way. His gloved hands grasp the railing up top, and he maneuvers his legs over the intricately wrought iron to stand on the brick protrusion. Just inside the sliding glass door flickers a light, indicating that someone had noticed his presence.

Before the shadowy figure can make its way to the door to get a good view of Fala, the Ranger flings themselves to the adjacent rooftop. As he fades into the night’s shadow atop these gables, he hears shouting from down below. It becomes progressively more garbled as he makes his escape, smirking to himself as he readies the Styler.

“ _Hoo! Hoo!_ ” echoes the dulcet tones of a bird Pokémon with a large wingspan flying overhead. Fala withdraws the capture apparatus from the Styler, weaving it through the air with learned precision. A faint silvery thread materializes from the tip of the apparatus, moving through the air and encapsulating the Noctowl. The large avian Pokémon descends from the sky to where Fala crouches, flapping its powerful wings just above his lithe form.

“Thanks,” whispers Fala as the Noctowl’s claws grasp around the shoulders of his leather jacket. Though Fala’s never been one to be suckered by worship of legendary Pokémon, he silently thanks Arceus that he decided to steal some of the Gym’s protective gear as he made his escape. With a _fwoosh_ , Faladin Soldhom soars into the muggy summer’s eve. The last vestiges of the shouting below fade away as the Noctowl carries him from a relatively downtown area into the southern suburbs of Oakenward City, touching down just in front of the borough’s Pokémon Center.

Fala presses a button on the Styler; the faint silvery thread is dispelled into the fluorescent lighting of the Center. The Noctowl lets out a satisfied “ _Hoot!_ ” and takes off again into the night, leaving Faladin stood on the cracked pavement. Cool air washes out from the building as the automatic doors open, playing a pleasant “ _ding-dong_ ” jingle as Fala enters the Pokémon Center.

Standing at the counter before the mildly disheveled Fala is a member of the Ancient and Noble House of Joy – a lineage of Pokémon healers that extends back to ancient times. Surprisingly, Fala hadn’t even been in a Pokémon Center for several years now – most Gyms have a place for the Leader and salaried trainers to heal up at. In Dame Dolciana’s years of “care” and “training” various orphans of nobility (read: abuse and overexertion), she would _never_ allow them off of the manor’s grounds. Thus, a lot of the common knowledge most Pokémon trainers hold is completely foreign to Fala with the exception of very specific points regarding the Regional Meritocracy.

Though all of the Joys are interrelated (and thus have a relatively similar appearance), each Center caretaker has a distinct methodology of care to separate them from the rest. The man standing at the counter is a slim man with fluffy pink hair and glasses sitting at the bridge of his nose, dressed in an ill-fitting lab coat. “ _Maybe life would’ve been a little easier if our healer looked like this guy…_ ” Fala thinks to himself. “ _That wrinkly asshole could’ve made up for that **winning** personality if he had a face like that._”

The Nurse Joy looks up from his PC and actually _smiles_ at Fala, something he hadn’t experienced since his only friend in the manor – a pale boy with long, raven-black hair – escaped from the estate the prior summer. “Welcome to the Pokémon Center! What can I get started for you this evening?”

“Uhh…” Fala responds in his usual gravelly tone. “I hear that these places heal Pokémon? I’m pretty short for cash right now, though.” His eyes take in his surroundings as the nurse continues to _click-clack_ away at the keyboard. Since Fala touched down in one of the Tempora Region’s many suburban areas, he stands in one of the more cookie-cutter Pokémon Centers: a fairly sterile building with a red-and-white tile color palette. Fluorescent lights above him flicker slightly, giving the impression of being within a liminal space. A pink Pokémon – one Fala recognizes as an Audino – brings out a tray small enough to fit six miniaturized Pokéballs as soon as it hears the word “heal”. He also focuses in on the nametag, which reads “Aubron Joy”.

Aubron’s eyes shift in slight confusion, as it’s been a very long time since someone had come into the Center without knowledge of the utilities provided by the institution. After a moment, he smiles in almost childlike delight, clapping his hands. “I usually don’t get to give my spiel to folks older than the age of 12, so this is exciting!”

“Yeah, sure – are you going to heal my Nincada or not?”

Aubron Joy pouts. “Give it to the Audino and I’ll explain to you the features of the Pokémon Center.”

In _great_ reluctance, Fala sets Sheik’s Pokéball down onto the metal tray held by the Audino. The last time he handed a Pokéball to someone to take out of sight, he never saw his Noibat (named Umbrasyl) again. However, he feels an odd sense of trust towards this pink-haired man?

The slim nurse steps out from behind the counter, scratching his head. “Your typical Center consists of several services that are offered to all trainers, based primarily on the income level of the individual. All Pokémon are treated for free, but if a trainer is particularly short on cash, they are permitted to use the Center’s lodgings for as long as they need. However, it does require you to be okay with communal living for the time being.” Aubron shrugs.

“Do you serve food?” Fala asks abruptly.

“We have daily meals, but I wouldn’t really recommend eating here on a regular basis. It’s mostly mediocre prepackaged stuff.”

“…do you have cherry yogurt?” the Ranger mutters.

“Pardon?”

“Do you have cherry yogurt?” Fala asks, a bit more confidently.

“I-I think? I’ll go check in the back…” Aubron says confusedly, voice trailing off as he moves into a back room. The sound of an opening refrigerator echoes off of the clean tile. After a few seconds, he emerges with a cup of Al-Creamy brand cherry yogurt and a plastic spoon.

Fala snatches the aluminum container from Aubron with starving enthusiasm.

“Should I put you down for a room, then?” asks the nurse.

“I think that’d be best.”

As Faladin Soldhom settles in for the night underneath the gauzy blankets of Oakenward City’s suburban borough’s Pokémon Center, he glances outside. A flash of shadow crosses the window, interrupting the steady stream of moonlight for a brief second.

“Huh.”


End file.
